


Party Games

by ap_trash_compactor



Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment, parent trap-style shenanigans, thryce fluff friday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ap_trash_compactor/pseuds/ap_trash_compactor
Summary: On Coruscant, everyone's usually playing some kind of game. (Fluff for the Thryce Discord.)





	Party Games

"Hey, wait --"  
  
Eli hears Pyrondi before he sees her. He feels her grab his arm, almost spinning him off his feet, before he sees her, too.  
  
"What's wrong?" It's sort of a reflex question; he knows she still has a tendency towards nervous embarrassment, especially when she has to do anything around Thrawn — which this afternoon of mandatory Ascension Week "fun" entails.  
  
"Shh, come on," she hisses, tugging on his arm. Eli throws a half-hearted glance around Moff Stattata's glass-domed garden, its broad lawn and shimmering stone patios scattered with the Coruscanti great and good.  Thrawn is chatting, unsurprisingly, with Yularen — but strangely, Eli doesn't see any of the other officers or senior crewers of the Chimaera, so he gives a little shrug and lets Pyrondi drag him off towards one of the prettily maintained corps of fruit trees that dot the edge of the lawn. Maybe, he thinks, that will solve the mystery.  
  
It does. Faro and the handful of officers and crew Thrawn had selected as his guests for this particular afternoon outing are huddled together behind a stand of flowering citrus trees. Some of them look pretty comfortable. Some of them don't. Eli remembers feeling that way, the first few times he'd trotted along at Thrawn's heels to affairs like this. Thrawn himself doesn't particularly enjoy them, Eli knows, but he's cottoned on to the value of political friends. Thrawn’s also begun to make a point of selecting his best, and favorite, officers and crew and bringing them along on his social rounds; it's a way of grooming them for promotion and advancement. Some, Eli knows, need a little more grooming than others.  
  
Faro isn't one of those  
  
"Good, here's our last co-conspirator. Nice work, Ronni."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," says Pyrondi, shoving Eli into the group. "So, when do we get started?"  
  
"Get started with what?" Eli asks.  
  
Faro grins. "We're going to tell Moff Stattata about the Animal Race."  
  
Eli feels the blood drain out of his face. "No."  
  
Faro grins wider. "Oh, yes. Thrawn's been dragging us all over this stupid city all week, and we've decided it's time _we_ get to have a little of the fun."  
  
"If you tell him," Eli hisses, "he'll want to do it." Eli doesn’t mean Moff Stattata.  
  
"That's the point," says an Ensign.  
  
"Yeah, I guessed that," Eli says. "It's also a terrible idea."  
  
"And we guessed you'd think that," says Pyrondi. "Which is why you're gonna stay here until Deyland finishes setting it up."  
  
Deyland? It takes a minute, but — Deyland. From the Blood Crow. He must be moving up if he's here, but how —  
  
"He and I were in the same year at Royal," Faro explains, seeing the confusion on his face. "I roped him into this. We're still friends."  
  
"Yeah, great," Eli mutters. "Look — he’s gonna work it so he gets partnered off with her, and she’s gonna be —"  
  
“That’s the point,” says Pyrondi. “We’re tired of all their skulking around about it, trying to make sure no one knows. We want to start some rumors.”  
  
“Like I said,” says Faro, quite professionally, “it’s our turn to have a little fun.”  
  
~*~  
  
"Ah, Arihnda, have you ever meet my nephew, Nels Deyland?"  
  
Arihnda diverts form her path like a dog summoned by its owner. She can find Thrawn and Yularen later; pleasing Moff Stattata is vastly more important. He’s a sociable, fairly jovial man — but he’s damned effective at his job, or Tarkin would never have allowed him to stay in command of an Outer Rim sector with a rising swell of Rebellion. Arihnda is also fairly certain that he’d had a direct hand in Governor Azadi's removal.  
  
She has no intention of giving him reason to have a hand in anything similar with her.  
  
She smiles politely, and holds out a hand to the generically handsome, neatly appointed officer standing with Stattata, saying "Sadly, no, I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure," in her most civil tone.  
  
Deyland, she notes, is a Commander. He is probably also, she thinks, captain of his own ship, or attached to a captain with a very good reputation. Stattata wouldn't be showing him off otherwise, family connection or no. Most of the high-ranking personnel invited to functions like this make a point of bringing some of their more impressive subordinates along — though few of those high-ranking men and women bring as extensive an entourage as Thrawn, whose anointed favorites are developing their own reputations for being exceedingly effective, and conveniently poachable.  
  
Arihnda's helped with that. She'd devised the strategy: a subtle and convenient method of seeding Imperial service with creative, competent, capable personnel, all of whom just _happen_ to feel a rather profound degree of personal loyalty to Thrawn — and a little bit of gratitude towards her. It’s been one of her major contributions to their evolving partnership. It had been a very good idea, indeed, she thinks, to make a point of reaching out to him after his promotion to Commodore. They've been able to help each other out immensely; his suggestions about handling the Rebels on Lothal have been as brilliant as she'd hoped, and she knows he's found her understanding of Coruscanti politics equally valuable.  
  
And there are other, more personal, benefits — although those are hardly her focus today. Best, really, not to let even a hint of them show. Especially not in this company.  
  
"Ma'am," said Deyland, taking her hand briefly,  "a pleasure." Then he turned to Stattata. "Uncle, I'm most grateful for your invitation."  
  
"Of course, of course,” says Stattata, “I’m glad to finally see you on Coruscant; glad you're fitting in. And congratulations on your promotion. Command of an Imperial Star Destroyer is no small thing."  
  
"No, indeed. Thank you, sir."  
  
"Enjoying the party so far?"  
  
"Very much so. It's a beautiful space. Almost makes me miss the party games from my childhood," he says offhandedly, sounding a little wistful.  
  
"Oh?" says Stattata, brightening. "You know, I'm quite fond of light entertainment myself. Why don't you tell me about some of them?"  
  
"I'm sure I shouldn't — Wild Space isn't the most civilized, you know."  
  
"Nonsense!" says Stattata, chuckling. "A little local color livens things up now and then. And I missed my chance to see any of them when you were little — tell me about one, at least."  
  
"Well," says Deyland, almost reluctantly, "there was one I remember being rather fun…”  
  
~*~  
  
“Stattata is her boss,” Eli is saying to Faro, trying to be reasonable. “If she has to do this in front of her boss she's going to be in an bitch of a mood for the rest of the week — the rest of our entire leave, probably. Do you really want him lurking around the ship, handing you extra work for your entire leave?”  
  
Faro tosses the bait right back: “I'm sure you’ll still find two minutes alone with Lieutenant Gimm. That's all you need, right?”  
  
“Okay, just because you haven't gotten laid since the Clone Wars —”  
  
“Oh, come off it,” Pyrondi cuts in. “It looks like Deyland’s done it. Time to join the party.”  
  
Deyland does indeed seem to have done it. Stattata is heading towards a central spot on the main patio, waving people over, clearly getting ready to call for quiet and make some kind of announcement.  
  
So it's definitely too late to stop it. Eli watches with a kind of muted grimace as Stattata announces the game (“a delightful new entertainment, if anyone is willing to try it”) — describes the rules of the race (“pairs try to locate each other on the field, one blindfolded and the other calling an assigned animal noise, to test how well you all understand our galactic fauna”) — and suggests that perhaps the naval personnel might be brave enough to break the way for the civilians (“go on ahead and make it safe for the rest of us”).  
  
“Maybe we should include some of the civilian administrators, Excellency,” Faro calls out, almost straight-faced. “To help foster intra-governmental coordination.”  
  
“Capital idea, Commander,” Stattata says. “I'm always in favor of improving civil-military relations.”  
  
After that, things go along almost exactly as Eli had feared. People do volunteer, quite cheerfully — but Arihnda Pryce lurks out of the line of fire until Thrawn, after a brief exchange with Yularen, volunteers her as his own partner.  
  
“Governor Pryce and I have coordinated several successful minor offensives in the Outer Rim, Moff Stattata,” Thrawn says casually. “Perhaps you would permit us an opportunity to demonstrate our facility for joint operations — if she is willing, of course,” he adds, inclining his head politely in her direction.  
  
“A capital idea from the _Chimaera_ yet again. I would be delighted. Arihnda, what do you think? Up for showing your juniors how it's done?”  
  
And kriff, but that woman knows how to control her face, Eli thinks. She's almost as good at it as Thrawn — almost.  
  
“Of course, Excellency,” she says graciously, inclining her own head in a moment of polite deference to her superior. “It would be my pleasure, I’m sure.”  
  
And then there’s nothing for Eli to do but hang back on the edge with Faro — Pyrondi pairs herself with a very attractive Senatorial aide in such short order that Eli wonders if it wasn’t built into the plan all along — and watch as the pairs are given their calls, as some high-toned woman offers up an expensive black silk scarf to be torn into strips for blindfolds, as the players are arrayed around the field.  
  
It’s a good thing, Eli thinks when Stattata tells them all to have at it and people immediately start stumbling around and bumping into each other, drawing titters from the crowd, that Thrawn’s the one wearing the blindfold.  
  
~*~  
  
Thrawn stands perfect still, and listens. Somewhere in the mix of noise, the soft thud of footfalls cushioned by thick grass, the rustling of skirts and the whisper of trousers, the nonsense imitations of animals of all sorts, the smacks of people stepping into each other followed by cries of surprise and protest and then laughter, somewhere in it he will find — _ah_.   
  
The sound of a voice he knows.  
  
He suppresses a laugh of his own. Her imitation of an Ysalimiri is truly atrocious, like a cat that does not know how to be happy. But he would know her anywhere, and following the sound of her voice is as easy as allowing himself to be reeled in on a string. He takes another moment to orient himself, turns slightly, and sets out for her.  
  
It is a somewhat uneven, though not overly undignified, journey. Avoiding being bumped into is mostly a matter of listening carefully, as well. He manages it well enough: side-stepping, or stopping and waiting until someone passes ahead of him. It is a reasonably amusing game; if nothing else it will afford him an opportunity to be a little closer to her than their usual public decorum allows — a chance for them both to share something besides straight-faced talk. He takes a quick step backwards, avoiding someone who is walking, undoubtedly, the wrong direction, and hears her make her awful attempt at a chirping purr again, conveniently close, and finds that his way is clear.  
  
He takes another step, and stretches out a hand gently, cautious fingers testing open air.  
  
The point of the game, he infers, is to create a thrill of taboo amusement for the onlookers and to draw hot-cheeked awkwardness and anxious laughter from the players by making people not only bump into one another clumsily but also by making the blindfolded searchers haplessly fumble at their callers with groping hands — hence the preference he’d noted among both players and bystanders for pairing off eligible couples. Should some searcher find their caller by landing a hand in the wrong place, the onlookers doubtless will make fun out of it by making fun of it, and the more untoward the moment of contact, so much the better for the entertainment of the audience — and so much the more convenient, he supposes, for young couples who may be looking for a way to cross the boundary of touch for the first time, who are probably the game's intended participants.  
  
But for Arihnda, he knows, such a public humiliation would cut to the quick.  
  
He edges his hand forward a little more. He has a good sense, from the sound of her voice, and her breathing now that he is close enough to hear it, of how she is probably oriented relative to him. And he is familiar with her body: the dimensions of it, how she fits beside him, where her shoulder is relative to his, her waist, her —

Elbow. Perfect.  
  
"Have I successfully found the Governor of Lothal?"  
  
"Indeed you have, Commodore" she says lightly, a little current of relief flowing beneath her words.  
  
He gives her elbow a gentle squeeze, probably nothing that anyone watching would notice, and bows his head. "Perhaps you will assist me with the blindfold?" And this is pushing the boundaries a little, but probably not too far.

"Certainly," she says.

Her fingers curl feather-light through the hair at the back of his head, and a moment later the blindfold slips from his eyes in a soft whisper of silk. He blinks at her. Her expression is holds a question, not entirely devoid of trust: _How far are you going to push?_

Probably, he decides, he has pushed far enough. He smiles very faintly and takes the slip of black fabric back from her hands, brushing his fingers lightly along her skin as he does. It only lasts a moment, but he can see a gentle wave of heat climbing the pale column of her soft throat as he does it.  
  
And that, he thinks, is at least a good sign for what the evening will hold.  
  
He turns from her. "Excellency," he calls in the direction of Moff Stattata, "I believe we have won."  
  
~*~  
  
Eli lets out a breath. Faro nudges him with her elbow. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  
  
“No,” he allows, “I guess not.”  
  
It could certainly have been a lot worse. Someone other than Thrawn could have stumbled into her, for one thing. That would have been a shit show. Or –  
  
“But I don’t think it’s going to get the right rumors started.”  
  
“Karyn –”  
  
“What do you think, Nels?” She asks, voice raised just enough to carry, looking past Eli to where Deyland is standing.  
  
“That seemed awfully short,” Deyland shouts. “Switch them around, do it again!”  
  
Eli stares. That seems like an awfully forward way to address a Moff. But Stattata doesn’t seem bothered in the least, and repeats the suggestion in a way that makes it more of a command.  
  
And glancing over the field, Eli sees Arihnda Pryce flinch, and go a little rigid, sees Thrawn tilt his head and say something to her softly, sees her shake her head and set her jaw… If nothing else, Eli’s learned over the past year, she knows how to grit her teeth through anything.  
  
Too bad, he thinks, wincing with a mixture of sympathy and self-pity and mentally erasing all his free time from his Coruscant schedule, that she always ends up taking it out on someone else, after.  
  
~*~  
  
She probably wouldn’t be able to bear this if it were with anyone else, she thinks. But with Thrawn…

With Thrawn, Arihnda can stand to close her eyes and let him twist the strip of silk around her head and bind it there, gently. He is talking to her gently in his low voice, too.  
  
“This is not such a serious matter, I do not believe,” he murmurs. “I can withdraw on our behalf.”  
  
“No,” she mutters under her breath. “Stattata — no. I don't want to give him any reason to be displeased.”  
  
Thrawn’s hand is on her upper arm, and he is leading her… wherever.  
  
“I am certain he is pleased with your successes on Lothal.”  
  
“That’s not enough on Coruscant, I’ve said this a hundred —”  
  
“I know,” he mumurs. “I am only suggesting —”  
  
“It’s fine,” she says. “Just — it’s fine.”  
  
Which, of course, it really isn’t.

Thrawn leaves her wherever Stattata, playing umpire, is gesturing for the callers to leave their searchers, and then she is alone. And then Stattata calls for the game to begin. And then the disaster starts.

Maybe it’s the sense that Stattata is watching her, maybe it’s just being blindfolded, maybe it's that her hearing’s not as good as she thinks. In any case, when Stattata gives the signal, she tries to do what had Thrawn had done, which had seemed a good strategy: to stay still, and listen. But she can not pick him out, and standing still starts to feel conspicuous, and she starts to hear the rushing of her own pulse in her ears, mixing with all the rest of the indistinguishable nonsense, and she thinks, damn all of it, she thinks she knows the direction Thrawn set off in when he left her, she can at least start walking that way, and —  
  
And she smacks face-first into someone almost instantly.  
  
Whoever it was was moving quite fast, and hits her quite hard, and the both lose their balance, and stumble, and fall, a mass of limbs together. Whoever she’s hit makes a high-pitched, feminine noise. Arihnda tries to get herself back on her feet, but whoever knocked her down tries it at the same time, and they tumble sideways again. Arihnda hisses furiously and tries to scramble up again, and the same comedy of ineptitude repeats, the two of them tripping at new angles, and Arihnda thuds onto the ground, _again_ , seething, and —  
  
And then there is a hand on her elbow, helping her up. A familiar touch. A familiar presence. Familiar fingers brush lightly against the back of her head, catching the knot of the blindfold cleverly and unraveling it.  
  
“Governor,” he says, “I trust you are not hurt?”  
  
“No, thank you,” she says, catching her breath and composing herself. “I am perfectly fine, thank you.”  
  
“Lieutenant Pyrondi?” Thrawn inquires mildly, turning to look at the woman still on the ground.  
  
“Fine, sir, thank you, sir,” says the woman in a breathless rush, scrambling to her feet.  
  
“Ending the game early again, Commodore?” asks Stattata, coming over to them. “Bit of a spoilsport move, that.”  
  
Arihnda goes rigid, but at her side Thrawn remains perfectly unruffled.  
  
“It would hardly do for the Navy to leave the civilian administration alone and unsupported in the face of an attempted coup.”  
  
There’s a moment, very short, where Stattata’s eyes widen, and Arihnda feels her body seize with panic. But in the next moment Stattata throws back his head and laughs, a full-belly guffaw that lets the tension out of the moment.  
  
“Quite right,” he says, recovering himself, “quite right, indeed.” Then, smiling slyly, he looks between them. “You two do work together well.”  
  
“Thank you, Excellency,” says Thrawn.  
  
“No trouble to say it,” says Stattata. He looks between them again. “Tell me, Commodore, have you met my nephew, Nels Deyland?”  
  
~*~  
  
“Nephew?” Eli hisses at Faro. “ _Nephew_?”  
  
“What, did I forget to fill you in on that?” she asks with exaggerated innocence.  
  
“I think you did, yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “So this was less about starting rumors and more about getting Stattata’s stamp of approval?”  
  
“Which I had it on good authority we would,” she says. “You’ve just about got it.”  
  
Eli looks back at where Stattata is presiding quite happily over a little confab that consists of Deyland, Thrawn, Pryce, and Yularen.

“We thought if a Moff as important as Stattata approves of them as a couple,” Faro continues, “they might be able to be a little more relaxed in public. It'll at least give them some breathing room.”

“Which means they’ll give _us_ more breathing room,” Eli says, feeling his shoulders relax. He really needs to start giving Karyn more credit.

“Exactly,” she says. “So to go back to your earlier question: no, I really don't want him crawling all over the ship while I'm supposed to be on leave.”


End file.
